


definition

by Pri_est



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Split (2016)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Fluff, Imagery, Implied Sedation, Implied drug usage, Multi, yandere moira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-13 15:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21156749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pri_est/pseuds/Pri_est
Summary: fics based off of words and their definitions. xo | I'm warning you now...most of these fics are fucked up. REALLY fucked up.





	1. rot |moira, overwatch, nsfw|

**Author's Note:**

> Moira tests a drug on you. 
> 
> You shouldn't have left. 
> 
> -
> 
> Moira's intentions are nice. Ish.
> 
> I hate having filters on my works. This is where I let my brain do the talking instead of having to filter everything. 
> 
> Albino Character mentioned is my OC, Pricilla. Image here; https://i.imgur.com/hwW3Oum.png
> 
> Reader character is a hoe for Moira.

r o t

_noun_

1\. the process of decaying.

* * *

Do you know what it is like to rot?

It is like a sting. A toothache. The skin will pang with such a pain that will make you cringe, that sometimes you wish it would stop, but if it pleases the woman caressing your blackened skin, you could not care less.

Sometimes, if you were lucky, your bones would feel it too. You stare at the woman above you, with such adoration within your remaining eye.

The rot had affected your eyes and the skin surrounding them. It had softened so considerably, that your eye had just...fell out. It resulted in a soft, shocked gasp from you, and an amused laugh from the scientist. You didn't miss when she had picked it up and placed it in a jar, stroking the closed lid with her long, matte nails, and a seductive look within her heterochromatic eyes. 

It was as if she found this to be enjoyable. 

Your skin, eventually, began to melt, like wax being broken down by a scorching flame, and behind it left small, black, gaping holes. Beneath your eyes grew a sickening green, the shade of dying leaves, as if you were to become one with the trees.

The IV that had violated the vein in your wrist was now surrounded by purple skin. Your body had wanted to reject the drug, but drank it up to withstand the _constant sting of existence._

You were absolutely ruined. Disgusting. _Pitiful._

Yet she saw you as a work of art. Something she had sculpted on for hours without end. You were her lovely mistake.

You were never supposed to experience this. Never supposed to dig into her brain and invade her thoughts, much like a maggot invading carrion. But here you are. Begging for her touch.

* * *

Sombra had seen it first. 

Sombra had seen you and your little albino haired friend trying to sneak in, with clothes so black you could have blended in, if Sombra was not the pro of invisibility that she was.

She stared at the screen and let out a chuckle, humoured by your sad attempts of trying to stay hidden. She had thoughts of going behind you both and just ending you on the spot. Bang bang, you're just bloodied corpses on the shiny, polished floor, waiting for the janitor to sweep you away and throw you to the mutts.

Poor janitor.

But then she thinks back to when she had hacked Moira's private device out of curiosity, and it was flooded with pictures of you. She had to wash her eyes out with soap, but otherwise, she was no longer ignorant of the cold woman's obsession with you.

The janitor was lucky; now he only has to deal with _one _corpse. Moira could do whatever she wanted with you. Sombra felt like she was doing the woman a favour, really.

In her words, "You didn't have the guts to do it before, and you don't have them now. You're welcome, chica," she exclaimed with a wink, throwing your limp, fainted body into Moira's surprised arms, and she was lucky to catch you before you hit the cold laboratory floors. 

Sombra also mentions your albino partner and tells Moira she's going to have fun, but Moira just tells her to _"keep your eager hands to yourself", _and to tie up your friend and put her somewhere where she could access later in the day.

Sombra was less than impressed, due to her new play thing being taken away so soon, but she does what she is asked. She doesn't want to deal with the doctor when she's..._displeased._

* * *

Moira recalls the day she met you. Bright eyed, hopeful, and eager to learn. Eager to learn from her, and her only.

Until you left. Her experiments got more vulgar, and you just could not grasp onto the idea of committing vile acts, regardless if they were for science or not. 

It had hurt to leave.

Her assistants would come and go; she'd find none of them good enough for her knowledge. She was not one to enjoy someone who could brighten a room, she was more laid back, but you were different.

A drug, more or less. Addictive.

They had been irrelevant.

But now that you're back...it's different.

She had readied her words, for when she saw you again. She would both slap you and embrace you. Yell and whisper loving words to you. But all of that, she threw out the window, much like you were thrown into her arms.

She's like a drug addict, who has been on withdrawal, until now. 

The combination of medications, flowing into your veins and helping to turn your person into softness and aid your nerves, had numbed the toothache and replaced it with euphoria, for now. Moira thought she'd like hurting you. But the human body does indeed have its limits on exposure. She'd like to change that soon enough. 

She lets one of her claws dig into your soft flesh; it went right through, as if she was fingering the cunt of someone who was assembled by cream, and she tapped around until she could feel the bone in your forearm. 

Once she was able to glide her nail so softly again your bone, she began to _scrape, _like she would on a chalkboard, and a quiet moan erupted from your throat. 

Too much pleasure, or pain in some case, has tired you out. Your one eye is lidded, showing your exhaustion, and she takes note of this. She carefully takes her hand out - dripping with blood and other fluids - and takes your cheek into her fingers to pinch. Your skin was like clay underneath her warm fingers.

"We can halt this for now, if you'd like," she mumbles and takes her hand back from your melting face, to get a hold of the bag, almost empty and lacking of the cursed yet blessed medications, to replace them with something she made to harden your skin and other parts. You deserve all the rest you can get, for dealing with her actions full of fuckery.

"Please..." you confirm her offer, and she quickly yet surely rips out the needle from your wrist to replace it. She warns you of your body potentially feeling odd, due to the shift in medications, then covers you in a blanket [that she _may _have made for you] so you may rest in the medical chair. 

Moira doesn't leave, until she sees the holes repair themselves upon your skin, and the skin discolouration correcting itself. She dims the lights, and walks off for a break. She locks her door almost immediately after stepping out.

At least she can say your previous, rotting state was successful, unlike her other experiments, although to her dismay she had to let her old experiments live.

She would never let you get to the point of death, though.

_That was only for your albino friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a dirty moira main if you couldn't tell. ;)


	2. ethereal |patricia, split, sfw|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had already wrote this but I accidentally wrote it on the WRONG work and published it. I had a lovely mistake in the morning. :(  
This fic is an upgraded vers of a fic I had in my drafts. I accidentally posted the draft. Please stab me. 
> 
> Fuck. My. Life. 
> 
> So I'm new to this fandom. Wus poppin', B?
> 
> I was actually kinda afraid to join because of all of the hate posts on Tumblr, but...eh.
> 
> Please tell me if I write for our babes correctly, or DID itself correctly. I'd like to write for them a lot more. But tell me gently, and nicely, please. uwu

e t h e r e a l 

_adjective_

1\. extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.

* * *

The world is ugly. 

This, Patricia knew. 

Ugliness, of course, had come in all forms. But she had always had a hatred for actions. Ugly actions, whether they were against a person or something else, were always something that made her crinkle her nose in distaste.

But then she had discovered you, when walking inside of the iconic, locked room to inspect the newcomers. Lost, anxious, and clueless. She scolded Dennis for touching you and the other girls of course, but as the two other girls tried to fight and leave, you had done nothing.

You sat on the cot you were given. Silent.

Patricia had liked your lack of communication. She was a quiet, laid-back woman; the screaming and backtalk would always get to her at one point. But with you, she didn't have to ingest an abundance of Aspirin. 

* * *

Patricia hated when her bubble of space was invaded. She also had to be on alert when with the other girls, as they had shown aggression before. So now, when she takes the 3 of you into the small kitchen, she has to keep the 3 of you the farthest away, until she's able to turn around, and keep an eye on you.

You, however, were an exception.

You never went close to her, unless asked, or you were guided back to the room to be locked inside yet again. If Patricia was to guide you 3 to a specific room, she'd look at you so none of you attempted anything. 

She'd turn away when alone with you, though.

Her hand would be around your wrist, in a soft yet secure grip, as she hummed a lowly tune to herself, and you would follow. You had seen her click before.

You could remember that moment like it was yesterday; one of the girls had tried to attack Patricia, but before she could really do any damage, Patricia had taken a knife, as sharp as a needle - both with the intention to dig into someones skin - and pointed it at the girl. 

She seemed like such a soft woman, incapable of any harm. Your thoughts had changed that night.

So did your appetite.

* * *

Patricia had taken a liking to you.

You were delicate. Much like golden foil, you were able to break from any kind of rough contact. She had to be nice to everyone she had come across, for the illusion of safety. That much was true.

But being nice and understanding to you felt natural, and mandatory. You were cute in her eyes. Much like a fawn. 

Of course, she couldn't be present 24/7. That, itself, was impossible. But it was obvious enough to the other personalities that being nice to you was a must. Within hours of meeting you, some of the personalities had liked you.

Jade, the teenage girl that she was, was always on the internet, and every moment she was with you, she had a new nickname. The latest one was "smol". Patricia had no idea what that had meant, but she assumed it was nice.

Barry had enjoyed making new clothes for you. It wasn't like they could let you out and go out shopping with you. Not yet. 

But he could experiment with you. Model for him. Patricia was fine with this.

Hedwig was happy to have a new partner to play with. Patricia used to scold him for acting foolish all the time, but she had halted it, seeing as Hedwig had enjoyed ranting to you and would go to you, out of any of the personalities, for consolation.

Patricia doesn't want you to think negatively of her. 

* * *

The other girls are dead.

This was inevitable. But now, your mood has decreased, and Patricia had seen this as a challenge. Feeling down is not healthy.

So now, when she can, she takes you to the kitchen, feeds you sweets and tea, and cheerfully tells you facts that she thinks you will enjoy. It was a remedy, believe it or not. It took a while, and multiple sweets, but you eventually stopped frowning so much.

Yes, the world was indeed ugly.

And the only thing that Patricia had found, that had rivaled the ugliness with beauty and charm,

was you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine referencing that "PATRICIA" vine but then Patricia runs in, all confused, and then you gotta tell her it's a vine so now you're grounded and in the corner for making her panic. But then when you're ungrounded she makes you cookies and kisses your cheek. :3c
> 
> My chromebook kept fucking disconnecting so I, also, had to panic in case I lost my work, AGAIN :


	3. immaculate |dennis, split, slight tw; injury and near death|

i m m a c u l a t e 

_adjective_

1\. free from flaws or mistakes; perfect.

* * *

When you think of something immaculate, you immediately think of fresh snow. White as a doves feathers, cold, _untouched. _Anything could taint it. Such as footprints, or someones innards. You know. Stuff like that.

But when Dennis thought of something immaculate, his thoughts always pointed to you from when you first met. You were so clean. So..perfect.

He had found you shopping with your mother, and he questioned not only himself, but God above. Who was this, and why did they not make Dennis want to have a fit over cleanliness?

He didn't think twice, although Patricia had screamed at him not to; he waited until both you and your mother walked back to your car. 

You knew nothing of the man, currently trying to make your mother lose consciousness, so you sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, smiling. 

But once the drivers side opened, you turned your head to say a hello, but your mother wasn't...bald. She didn't wear shirts like that.

And she certainly wasn't a _male. _You have no time to argue as he sprays something in your face. And within a minute, you pass out, venturing into a black void known as a dreamless sleep.

_"You imbecile," _Dennis can hear Patricia growl. But he feels no remorse.

* * *

He now feels a little bit of remorse.

If he knew you were going to _scream _this much, he would've at least bought ear plugs. Patricia smugly tells him that this is karma. He should just put a knife through your chest now and put parts of you in the freezer to keep the meat fresh. But he pushes her away. 

He clears his throat, making you halt for a moment. "I'd appreciate it if you would just stop your screami-"

You continue, instead it's more of an angry scream rather than a frightened one. "How the fuck do you expect me to _stop? _Who the fuck are you, where am I, and where is my mother??"

He doesn't focus on you angrily cussing him out. He focuses on your hair. It was now messy. Out of place. Disgusting. He points towards the bathroom, his eyes facing somewhere else, and it confuses you. "Fix yourself. I'll be back." And he's gone. 

He considers what Patricia said earlier.

* * *

Dennis tries to convince himself, that the perfect must come with the imperfect. Yes. Hair is going to mess itself up. Especially when you're angry. Maybe he should spray a can-load of hairspray onto your hair to keep it there. To keep it immaculate.

Jade unhelpfully informs him that hairspray might feel gross to you, and you would hate him more for it. Patricia doesn't barge in, like she usually does. She just hums in agreement.

At first, she had wanted you gone. Now she's agreeing on Jade on hair products to use on you. Will she make up her mind?

...And how do they know what hairspray feels like?

His thoughts are interrupted - and so are the unhelpful debates from the girls - when a thump echoes throughout the room he placed you in. He rushes towards the room, and sees the bathroom door wide open.

There lies you. Your head laying on a pool of red...is that blood?

You look at him with wide eyes, too shocked to say anything. The pain hadn't come yet.

He looks around the room, trying to piece what could have resulted in you bashing your head. He'll ask you later; right now, he had to make sure you stayed awake. He tried to move to help you, but he couldn't.

For some odd reason, you had looked immaculate. You could match an angel. Your blood was a halo, surrounding a messy, bloodied head. Your eyes were wide, and so was your mouth, and he wondered if you could talk. There was probably something in your throat.

Dennis had kept _staring. _Of course, he was confused. You were _messy. Disgusting. _Why didn't he want to yell at you?

Even if he did, you wouldn't hear him. Your eyes shut, and so did your gaping mouth. Your body had finally given out. No doubt you were just as confused as he was.

He cursed to himself, and carefully put his arms around you in a bridal fashion. Patricia snickers, "So we're keeping them, then?" After a gulp, too focused on how he was going to help you heal, he mumbles, "Yes."

He ignores the happy noise Jade makes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again; I have no idea how to write for OCD, DID, or anything similar. Any issues? Inform me gently. uwu
> 
> I could not find a way to end this ;0; my apologies

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what rot is supposed to feel like, but this is just my interpretation. Am I fucked up or what? 
> 
> The only thing I felt that was close to rotting was frostbite on both of my ears. Wear hats during a blizzard, kids. 
> 
> ...You too, Mei.


End file.
